Freya squinted at the map, then back at the looming stone structure that, according to said map, was supposed to be "Dungeon #36: The Gurgling Caverns of Mild Discomfort." It was hard to miss—tall, jagged, and ominously shaped like a disgruntled duck.
"Why does it look like it's about to file a complaint with HR?" Freya asked, genuinely concerned.
"Legend says the architect was going through a divorce and took it out on the masonry," Arlo, her designated bard, replied.
"Right," Freya muttered. "At least the name doesn't sound too bad. 'Mild Discomfort' sounds like something you get from undercooked tacos."
"Don't let the name fool you," piped up Mimsy, the rogue-turned-dungeon-critic who had joined them after her Yelp review of Dungeon #12 went viral. "I gave it 1.5 stars. And that's only because the torches were aromatic."
Freya sighed and pulled out her sword, which immediately turned into a banana.
"No, not today, please," she said, glaring at the item description: **"Sword of Slippery Justice: 8% chance to become potassium-rich snack."
Arlo offered her a backup—his spare lute. "You can slap enemies with this. It has sentimental value, so they'll really feel it."
Mimsy rolled her eyes. "You two ready or do you want to discuss the emotional trauma of musical instruments?"
They stepped into the dungeon, immediately greeted by a hallway of aggressive wallpaper. Literally. The wallpaper growled.
"Do we fight it or compliment its floral patterns?" Freya asked.
"It feeds on negativity," Mimsy whispered. "Just nod politely and move on."
They did, and the wallpaper hissed softly but allowed them through. Then came the first trap room: a floor covered in squeaky rubber chickens.
"Don't step on the—"
SQUAWK. SQUAWK. SQUAWK.
"...chickens," Mimsy finished, already crouched behind a suspiciously baroque statue.
The ceiling opened above them, releasing a cloud of glitter. It was not magical glitter. It was just irritating.
"I'M NEVER GETTING THIS OUT OF MY ARMOR!" Freya screamed.
Arlo coughed. "I think I inhaled a unicorn's sneeze."
They passed through that with minor dignity, only to stumble into a room labeled 'Boss Room: Please Knock' in Comic Sans. The sign below it read: "Now with 30% more emotional manipulation!"
Freya knocked. The door slowly creaked open to reveal... a goblin in a three-piece suit.
"Welcome to your intervention," it said solemnly.
"Interven—what?"
"We've all gathered here to talk about how your main character syndrome is impacting the group," the goblin gestured.
Seated in a circle were Freya's entire adventuring party, her long-lost pet hamster, her gym teacher from third grade, and a surprisingly well-dressed turnip.
"Freya," said Arlo, reading from a cue card. "When you run ahead screaming battle cries and triggering traps, it makes us feel unseen."
"Are you all high on dungeon gas?"
"Denial," whispered the turnip.
Mimsy sighed. "Just humor the dungeon. The faster we get through the boss fight, the faster we get out."
Freya stood. "Okay. Fine. I hear you all. I'll try to consider the emotional needs of my party members. And also, that turnip is making me uncomfortable."
"Valid," the goblin nodded, handing her a participation ribbon. "You've passed the psychological boss fight."
The door at the back opened, revealing a staircase covered in carpet that insulted them with every step.
"Nice boots, did your grandma knit those in the dark?"
"You walk like a three-legged llama on stilts."
"Okay," Freya snapped. "Now I am developing trauma."
At the next level, a group of slime creatures awaited them—each wearing tiny aprons and wielding whisks.
"They're… baking?"
"Slime Chefs," Mimsy said. "Very territorial. If you mess with their soufflé, they will end you."
The head slime wobbled forward. "State your business or face the wrath of poorly folded egg whites."
"We're here to loot and mildly discomforted," Freya said.
"Oh, honey," the slime said. "You've come to the wrong soufflé."
Cue battle music.
The fight was messy. Literally. Freya got hit in the face with custard. Arlo was trapped in a gelatin cage, still strumming ballads. Mimsy faceplanted into a crème brûlée trap.
"Stop throwing dessert at me like I'm a rejected contestant on a baking show!" Freya yelled, slicing through a gelatinous Swiss roll monster.
Eventually, they prevailed. Mostly by accident—Arlo hit a high note that shattered every soufflé within range.
Freya picked custard out of her ear and muttered, "One star. Would not dine again."
They reached the treasure room, only to find a vending machine.
"You may choose one prize," it said, with a robotic beep. "For a fee of three dungeon tokens."
"We have zero tokens," Freya pointed out.
The vending machine shrugged. Yes, it shrugged.
They dug through slime pockets, defeated traps, and insulted every rug until they found the required tokens.
"Alright, what do we get?" Arlo asked.
Options on the screen included:
+1 Introspective Growth (Non-refundable)
Mystery Box (Contains eldritch horror OR bath bomb)
Coupon for Half-Off Therapy
Random Weapon: May Be Sentient
Freya jabbed at the Mystery Box.
A puff of pink smoke. Out popped a rubber duck holding a tiny chainsaw.
"QUACK," it said ominously.
"…I love it," Freya whispered.
"Of course you do," Mimsy sighed.
As they exited the dungeon, glitter still stuck in their eyebrows and pride more bruised than usual, Freya checked her HUD.
Quest Complete: Survive Dungeon #36 XP Gained: 3 (Really, just 3?) New Title Unlocked: Emotionally Resilient Pancake
"Hey," Arlo said. "What do we tackle next?"
Freya turned, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "Whichever dungeon made this one's Yelp review look positive."
From her satchel, Mimsy pulled out a review labeled: Dungeon #42: The Screaming Labyrinth of Regret and Poor Customer Service.
Freya grinned. "Pack your lutes and insult-proof boots. We're going in."
And with that, our party strode into the horizon—slightly stickier than before, but bonded through trauma, custard, and therapeutic goblins.